Photo by Robert Burroughs
Pierre Marchand. “A white heavyweight — every manager and trainer’s dream."
“Look, I work for the media, I’m a writer, and if I don’t get out of here real soon there’s going to be a lot of people missing me."
The van was ready to leave at exactly eleven o’clock. This time, the load was considerably smaller — just myself, two drivers, several cases of vegetables and other foodstuffs, and a quiet, exceptionally nervous girl who wasn’t saying anything to anyone. She had apparently stayed for most of the week-long session, and wanted out even more than I did.
By J. Michael Straczynski, May 8, 1980 Read full article
For the refugees themselves the past is still fresh.
“I want you to know that every Vietnamese refugee has hostility,” he went on after a pause. “You look at their faces and it’s just, hmmmm.” He turned an expressionless face toward the sky. “But inside they are dead. Most of the Vietnamese people I know are not happy.”
By Gordon Smith, June 5, 1980 Read full article
Archie Moore (left): "This guy’s got a lot of guts."
Photo by Robert Burroughs
"Jesse was supposed to get down to 170 pounds for this last fight, and he told me he wouldn't. I cannot let a fighter dictate to me. But Island's abrupt departure is really a mystery to us. I really can’t tell you what the hell happened. Nobody really knows. There’s only about four fight managers in town, and so far, Jesse’s run the gauntlet through all of ’em.”
By Bill Owens, Sept. 11, 1980 Read full article
Joe Nyiri works on forms suggested by Stonehenge and Devil’s Postpile.
"In the beginning, when the group was smaller and more homogeneous, it was possible to have a unanimous vote on a new member, but now, with the active membership numbering in the fifties, and with the diversity in taste and direction among the members, we probably couldn’t get a unanimous vote on what day it is, and certainly not on admitting a new member."
By Stephen Heffner, Sept. 4, 1980 Read full article
Rabbi Fradkin: “So how much can I put you down for?... That’s very kind of you."
At least a dozen men in assorted head-gear — black fedoras. Homburgs, yarmulkes of every fabric, texture, and color (satin, knitted, crocheted, white, black, pale blue, red) — join in the circle as it grows larger and larger. Young students, middle-age businessmen, and bearded old patriarchs dance ecstatically around the tables with an intensity equivalent to the most fervent praying.
By Sue Garson, March 5, 1981 Read full article
Before the audition, I said to Susan Hendl, “I wish I were here to audition, myself’ and she said to me, with a short laugh, “Oh, no you don’t. I know I don’t."
Talk to any ballet teacher in San Diego and you’ll hear something like this: “I could name names . . . other ballet schools in this town . . . irresponsible . . . unqualified . . . there’s nothing you can do about it.” It’s not only in San Diego that young dancers may be afraid of letting one teacher know that they also take classes from another teacher, but it just might be worse here because of the overall insecurity of the local dance scene.
By Amy Chu, Apr. 23, 1981 Read full article